


Three monkeys

by lil_1337



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-21
Updated: 2005-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-06 10:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quatre gets mugged and is very unhappy about it.  Entry for the Action!Quatre challenge on SDQB</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three monkeys

/See no evil/

 

The rain misted across the windshield, not quite hard enough to require wipers but just enough to obscure vision. Quatre hit the button and the blades slid smoothly across the glass, once, twice then back to rest. The day had been long but productive. The tour of the newest construction project had gone well and he was pleased with how things were coming together. L2 had come a long way in economic development in the last few years and he felt a sense of personal pride in having been part of making that happen. There was still quite a bit to be done but they were making progress. Though it sometimes ate at him that he couldn’t just make everything right, he was aware that any step forward was movement in the right direction.

He stretched and wondered what Trowa was doing. Normally his partner would have accompanied him on the trip but a last minute emergency had required his attention at home. Rashid was certainly capable of taking the sick kitten to the vet but Trowa was a bit overprotective of his “baby”. Who knew that a few pounds of soft tiger fur had the capacity to reduce his usually reserved partner to acting like a frantic parent?

He let his mind drift over the events of the day, dividing them and categorizing them into what he would need to do when he got back to the office on L4. There was the ever-present paper work that would need to be done on the project he had visited, details of progress and next stage planning to be discussed with the people over seeing development. Part of his mind drove on autopilot, not noticing when he passed his exit or that the area around him was getting seedier by the moment.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Damn it” Quatre’s fist connected with the steering wheel of the rental car. Not only had the car chosen to die on him but somehow he had ended up in a completely unfamiliar part of town, one that just happened to be in the middle of a dead area for his cell phone. He made a mental note to himself that he would have to have a talk with who ever was in charge of communications about their range of service. There is no reason why there should be any place on the colony that did not have complete communications access.

He tossed the useless piece of plastic on the seat next to him and got out of the car, careful to lock the door behind him. Hopefully someone would let him use the phone and he could call for assistance. It was an annoyance, but one that would hopefully be resolved quickly. Scanning up and down the street, he noticed a small storefront with pawnshop over the doorway in neon letters that were intermittently fading and disappearing all together. The open sign in the door was faded and worn but the light shining through the dirt-streaked window led him to believe the store had not yet closed for the day.

The first thing Quatre noticed when stepping into the shop was the smell of rancid body odor. It permeated the whole place and it took all his self-control to keep his lunch in his stomach instead of depositing it on the dingy linoleum floor. He hurried to the counter where an emaciated man stood watching him with an air of wary indifference. Pasting a charming smile on his face, Quatre approached him.

“Excuse me, but would it be possible to use your phone?”

“For employees only,” the man shot back not even pausing to consider the request.

Quatre brightened his smile and discretely allowed the man to see a flash of a bill as he wove it through his fingers. “I would really appreciate it. Won’t take but a minute.”

The man eyed the bill then seemed to make a decision. “Back here,” he indicated with a twitch of his head. “Don’t touch nuthin”

Quatre slid under the end of the counter and slipped the man the bill before taking hold of the phone and dragging it as far from the man as possible. He removed the card for the car rental company and dialed the number listed on the back for emergencies. A soft-spoken young woman took his information, apologized for the inconvenience, and informed him she would dispatch someone to come assist him. However, it would be at least an hour before he could get there, as they were quite busy that evening. Growling in frustration he hung up the phone and handed it back to the shop worker.

“Thank you.”

The man shrugged his shoulders, his eyes not leaving the other two men who were slowing browsing through the merchandise on the store shelves.

Quatre stepped out into the damp night and took a deep breath, trying to rid his lungs of the stench that seemed to now be embedded in them. He leaned back against the worn bricks of the building and blew his bangs out of his face. It had been a long day and he just wanted to go back to the hotel and forget the whole thing had happened. A long hot shower and a call to Trowa: a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at that thought. That would go a long way towards making this day bearable. He closed his eyes, composing himself for the walk back to the car and the wait for assistance to arrive. His eyes had no sooner closed than a hand was over his mouth and the barrel of a gun was pressed against his temple. His eyes flew open and he took in a heavyset man staring at him with undisguised amusement and contempt. ‘This is just the perfect fucking ending to this day’ Quatre thought as he let himself be led around the corner of the building into a trash-strewn alley.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Take what you want but leave me the wallet and we’ll pretend this little /incident/ never happened.” Quatre voice was pitched low and calm but there was no mistaking the promise of violence in it.

The red headed man rifling his wallet looked up and sneered. “Fuck you pretty boy. No rich asshole tells me what to do!”

Quatre sighed to himself, he knew this type well, he’d dealt with more than his share in the times he had had the /pleasure/ of enjoying Oz’s hospitality. Powerless men who would abuse anyone who crossed their path,just to feel important, there was only one way to deal with them. Let them think they’d won. He composed his face into a small ingratiating smile, widening his eyes to give the illusion of fear. “Please.” He added in a soft voice that trembled just a tiny bit. “I don’t care about the credits or the cards. I just want the wallet. It was a gift from a friend.”

The red head smirked and slowly tapped his chin as if considering the request. “Nope. Sorry, no can do. Tell you what though.” He pulled a matchbook from his pocket and held it in front of Quatre’s face. “Come get it. That is if you got balls in those designer underwear.” He flicked the matchbook into Quatre’s face. It bounced off his cheek and came to rest on the ground near his foot. Quatre could feel the anger washing over him, narrowing his focus to only the necessary details. He had no doubt he could fight his way out of this situation, there was only two men after all, but would have preferred to avoid it. He’d done enough fighting for several lifetimes. He could live with what might be considered a blow to his pride and never feel demeaned by it, but he would not tolerate having what was precious to him taken away.

He quickly assessed the situation in his mind. The man holding his arms was unarmed having given his gun to the other to be able to restrain Quatre. The red head had the gun but he did not seem particularly familiar with it, using it more like a prop then a weapon. Without warning, Quatre slammed his heel down on bridge of the foot of the man holding him. At the same time he twisted, freeing his arms, and slammed an elbow into the man’s stomach. The man screamed and dropped to the ground, arms wrapped around his midsection. Quatre spun with the intent to kick his other assailant, but the ground slick from the oil and rain caused his foot to slip and throw him off balance for just a split second. The slippery soles of his custom-made dress shoes were made for comfort and elegance, not fighting in back alleys. The red head raised his weapon, and the butt connected with Quatre’s cheekbone before he could raise his hands to deflect the blow. Points of light exploded in his head and he hit the ground in a heap.

The first man slowly climbed to his feet, breathing heavily and wincing as every breath sent spears of pain through his abused body. He stumbled towards the entry way to the alley, following his rapidly disappearing partner. When he was passing where Quatre lay dazed on the ground, he sent a vicious kick to the stunned blond’s head sending him into unconsciousness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Quatre woke slowly, aware of being cold and wet before the memories flooded back. He was in an alley after being mugged. Gingerly he touched first his head and then his cheek, testing the extent of the injuries. Nothing appeared to be broken but he was going to have a hell of a bruise and a nice goose egg. Next to the puddle he had been lying in was the matchbook the redhead had thrown at him. He pocketed it after a cursory glance. He would study it later but for now he needed to get back to his hotel for a long hot shower, and clean clothes. Then there were plans to be made. This was not over, not until he called in the fat lady and told her to sing.

 

/ Hear no evil /

 

Quatre stared at the image in the mirror, trying to reconcile it with what he normally saw reflected back at him. His blond hair was now a raven black that shimmered with the occasional blue highlight. It contrasted with his fair skin making it look almost translucent in comparison. His eyes were edged with black kohl giving them an exotic upward slant. Three small gold hoops shone from his left earlobe and four in the right. It would be impossible to tell they were magnetic, not actual piercing, without examination on an intimacy level he had no intention of allowing. The already darkening bruise on his cheekbone, he left untouched.

Stepping back he took in his outfit with a critical eye. A tight black t-shirt ended at the waistband of his painted on black leather pants. Silver chains draped from where they were attached to his waist across to his left hip, the fall of the metal links gently brushing his crotch, drawing the eye to his ample assets. The pants were tucked into knee length riding boots that fit snuggly to his legs, outlining the curves of his calf muscles. Over it he wore an ankle length trench coat.

Hidden in the inside pockets of the coat were some heavy duty flex cuffs, the kind used by the Preventers. He had started carrying them at Heero’s insistence after the last kidnapping attempt. Quatre had had to use his tie to secure the man to a light post, to be able to call Heero, and it had been ruined in the process. The man had /not/ been amused by the conversation they had had about the tensile strength of silk on the trip back to headquarters.

In another pocket were his knives, a Christmas gift from Catherine last year. There were two of them. Perfectly balanced and fitted for his hands. She had had Duo have them specially treated so he could carry them on a shuttle or plane without worrying about them being detected and confiscated. In another pocket he carried a full set of burglar tools including lock picks and a slim jim.

He nodded slowly, satisfied with the transformation. The number of people who would be able to spot W.E.I.’s C.E.O. and the earth sphere’s youngest billionaire in this guise could be counted on one hand and none of them were currently anywhere near L2. To most people now he would just be another disaffected punk, someone to be avoided at all costs.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Quatre checked the matchbook in his hand against the name on the door, confirming that he was indeed in the correct place. He pushed his way in through the swinging door and looked around. Smoky was the first thought that came to mind as he slipped into the shadows along the back wall to study the clientele. The room was full of crowded tables and most of the patrons were about his age. His gaze flicked from group to group, looking for and not finding the two faces he was looking for. Stepping away from the wall, he strutted up to the bar, turning heads in his wake. The bartender, a pretty redhead, looking rode hard and put up wet on closer inspection, smiled and nodded to acknowledge him as he lounged languidly against the counter waiting to be served.

“What can I get for you, hon?”

“Beer. Bottle. Cold.” He let the corner of his mouth turn up in a sneer and blatantly eyed her up when she bent to pull his beer from under the counter. She met his look with one of tired humor mixed with contempt.

He nursed his beer patiently, his body language declaring him to be a predator on the prowl for his next meal. Even in a place where bloodshed was a daily occurrence most people gave him a wide berth, self-preservation instincts kicking in automatically. A willowy blonde sidled up to him, braving the aura of danger to caress his chest and offer to take him home. A snarled “fuck off” sent her scuttling back to the safely of her friends. An hour passed before the man who had first accosted him strutted into the bar as if he owned the place. Quatre’s eyes narrowed, the only visible sign of recognition. He finished his beer and switched to coke, wanting to be completely sober when he got the chance to make his move.

The mugger spent several hours chugging down beer and bragging about how wonderful he was to anyone who would listen. When he finally rose to leave he was a bit unsteady on his feet but able to keep himself upright with just a slight sway. His drinking buddies offered to help him home but he waved them off, saying that no one would dare fuck with him.

Quatre slipped out the door unnoticed and strolled slowly and casually down to the corner where he let himself blend into the shadows of a doorway to wait. It was only a few minutes before the man staggered out into the night. He looked both ways and then turned to walk towards Quatre. The blond let him pass then stepped out into the murky light. He pulled on the back of the man’s coat and spun him around throwing the intoxicated man off balance. The other man spun to face him and Quatre grabbed the lapels of his coat. One controlled shove and Quatre had him pinned to the wall inside the doorway. His face was illuminated by the sputtering streetlight while Quatre’s remained hidden in shadow.

“Where’s your friend?” Quatre hissed at him.

“Whaaat?” the drunken man stared at him blearily, not comprehending what he was being asked.

“Your friend. Red hair, bad attitude. He was with you a few hours ago when you were busy mugging people. Where is he?”

The man seemed to process this information, gears visibly turning in his dull eyes. “Oh, you mean Milo.” He beamed at Quatre, inordinately pleased with himself for having figured out what was being asked of him.

Quatre stepped forward so his face was inches from the other man’s and allowed the anger and frustration he was carefully holding in check show on his face. “Where. Is. He?” Each word was precisely enunciated for the other man’s benefit.

“Home.” He nodded to more to himself then Quatre.

“Where is home?”

“There.” The man pointed down the street to a broken down brick building that appeared to have started its life as a warehouse and was now being used to house apartments.

“Which one is his?” Quatre’s patience was beginning to fray and he was dangerously close to slamming the man against the wall even though he knew that with the amount of alcohol fogging the man’s brain it would do no good.

Again the drunken man appeared to think over the question then studied the building. “Third floor. That’s his window.” He pointed again, still pleased with himself.

“Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”

Quatre gave him a quick chop to neck rendering the other man unconscious then pulled his limp body deeper into the shadows. The thought passed through his head that he would have to thank Wufei for teaching him that move and then he pushed it aside to consider more pressing matters. He stood over the prone man for a minute, debating, as he let his anger run free through him. In the end he turned on his heel and headed down the street. He muttered under his breath, “fortunately for you /I/ don’t believe in hitting someone when they are down,”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Quatre examined the decaying building with a practiced eye. Despite being in the center of a high crime area it was not well protected. He jumped up and grabbed the bottom of the fire escape, using his weight to pull it down. It settled into place with a metallic clang and a shower of rust. He froze for a minute, melting back into the inky blackness surrounding the building until he was sure that the noise had not drawn any attention. When he was sure it was clear he quickly swung up on the fire escape, silently thanking Trowa for the gymnastics training. He slipped on to the balcony outside the third story window and once again paused, waiting patiently to see if he had been spotted. He eased over to the window and peered in. His target was asleep on the couch in front of the television, his mouth hanging open as he snored. Quatre leaned back against the wall and allowed himself to feed off the adrenaline, feeling the rush in anticipation of what was to come. Things were about to get /interesting/.

 

/ Speak no evil/

Quatre tested the window and was not surprised to find that it was locked. He rubbed his hand on the dirty glass in an attempt to see the lock more clearly, but only managed to smear the grime into a different configuration. The lock was a simple slide mechanism and Quatre pulled a thin piece of metal out of one of the inside pockets of his coat. He bent the end just a bit and then began to work it through the rotten wood window frame. Once it was through he tilted the metal up and used it to catch the edge of the lock. He eased the metal piece to the left pulling the slide with him until it snapped into the open position. He pulled the slim jim back out of the window and put it back into his pocket. He’d have to add Duo to his list of people to thank, both for the tools and the instruction on how to use them. He counted to ten, mentally preparing for the fight ahead. The window slid open easily, making almost no sound as it did. The red headed man on the couch stirred restless in his sleep but did not awaken.

Quatre climbed over the sill and closed the window behind him. He strode to the couch and secured the man’s wrists with a flex cuff before yanking him upright, waking him in the process.

“What the /FUCK/?” Milo’s eyes bugged in panic as he flailed around, trying to get free of the iron hand that held his shirt. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Cut me loose /NOW/!”

Quatre held the man firmly in place, waiting patiently for him to realize he was caught and quiet down enough to listen. When he finally stilled, the blond smiled softly at him.

“Now,” he began in a conversational tone “you have something of mine and I would like it back if it’s not too much trouble.” He paused and smiled again “Actually, I want it back even if it is a lot of trouble. But we’ll hope this will be easy for both of us.”

Milo’s face scrunched up and he studied the man still holding him by the front of his shirt. “I’ve never seen you before /asshole/.”

“Ah but you have my friend. We were never formally introduced because you were too busy mugging me.”

Milo looked closer at Quatre’s face and recognition and horror dawned. “Son of a bitch!”

Quatre laughed deep and low. “I seriously doubt it; my father had much better taste than that.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Thank you, but I’ll have to take a pass. You really aren’t my type. I prefer my lovers to have more class.” The man glowered at Quatre but refused to answer him. The blond shrugged his shoulders, rippling the tight material of his t-shirt. “As you can see I had no problem finding my balls. The question is if you want to keep yours.” He cupped the other man’s testicles lightly in his hand, then gave them a squeeze.

“I don’t have it.” The last word ended in a high pitch squeak as the pressure on his balls was increased enough to move from discomfort to low-level pain.

Quatre raised an eyebrow, disbelief etched on his face. His hand still holding on to the red head’s family jewels, he high stepped him across the room to the only straight-backed chair in sight. He secured the man’s bound wrists to the back of the chair, then cuffed a leg to each side. When he was finished, he carefully searched the tiny apartment.

On the dresser he found some jewelry that he assumed was stolen, as it was small and delicate, and definitely belonged to a woman. One ring in particular appeared to be a wedding ring. This knowledge did nothing to endear the man in the other room to him. Next to the jewelry was a stack of credit cards. Quatre read his name off the card on the top and gritted his teeth against the anger that still flowed through him. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to cover his hand when he picked up the cards and put them in one of his pockets. He was not sure what he was going to do with them but strategists and boy scouts are always prepared and he intended to take any opportunity that presented itself.

He strolled over to the man still secured to the chair, pulling out one of his knives as he did so. He began to pace the length of the small living room, not saying a word just studying his knife and walking. On his third pass he stopped directly in front of the bound man and in one swift motion threw the knife in the air, caught it by the handle and whipped it across the room where it embedded itself into the seat between Milo’s legs just mere millimeters from his crotch. The man let out a shocked yell and Quatre mentally added Catherine to his list of people he needed to thank. Maybe he should just throw a party he mused as he resumed his pacing. Invite everyone over and do it right. He nodded to himself, completely ignoring that there was anyone else present in the room. First though he had to finish this business and get home. He sighed and pulled his other knife out of his pocket before stopping to study the now extremely nervous man cuffed to the chair.

“Where is it?”

The man swallowed, his eyes never leaving the knife in Quatre’s hand. “I threw it away.”

Quatre pulled the knife from between the man’s legs and slipped it back into his pocket. Using the other he cut the cuffs binding the man to the chair but not touching the one holding his wrists hostage. He pulled the man upright and holding on to his arm headed towards the door.

“Well, lets go find it then, shall we?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I’m not looking in there,” Milo growled and jerked his head to indicate the garbage can perched on the curb. “You want it so damn bad /you/ look for it.”

Quatre chuckled darkly. “I don’t think so. After all, I’m the victim here and you are the one making amends.” He grabbed a handful of hair and jerked the man’s head back exposing his throat. Lightly, he traced a path the length of it leaving a visible scratch but not breaking the surface of the skin. “You will look and if I were you I would be praying that today was not trash pick up. I have time and I am a patient man. If you have to search the whole reclamation plant to find it, that can be arranged.” He lowered the knife then towed the still struggling man to the trash container. Unceremoniously the thief’s head was yanked down over it, his nose coming to stop only inches from the piled trash. He struggled, but Quatre shifted his hold and moved behind him. Balancing on one foot, he propped the other on the man’s lower back, using a steady pressure to keep the man bent over the garbage can.

“As I said, I can wait, but you might want to think about what your friends are going to think when they find you bent over a garbage can by another man. Not that I would fuck you, but I certainly wouldn’t want to make your friends think you were undesirable.”

The red head reached into the trashcan and, despite making loud gagging noises, began to dig through the masses of accumulated garbage. About half way down his fingers touched leather and he grabbed it, dragging his hand up from under the trash to bring the wallet up with a dramatic flair. With a snarl he threw it on the cracked sidewalk at Quatre’s feet.

“There’s your fucking wallet. Now get off of me.” Quatre dropped his foot to the pavement and removed another flex cuff from his pocket. He secured the thief to the garbage can before stooping to pick up his wallet. He wiped it on his coat hoping the liquid stains were not permanent. With shaking fingers he unsnapped the picture compartment then let out a long slow sigh of relief. They did not appear to have been removed or ruined. All the important people in his life were captured there on small pieces of colored paper. He flipped through them checking for damage and reliving the memories. Trowa sleeping after they had made love the first time. Heero and Duo at the last get together playing with Wufei’s daughter. Relena and Wufei with Miles and Meilan. Zach and Thomas Merquise, his and Trowa’s godsons. Finally, a smaller version of the picture that use to sit on his father’s desk, the one of him and much younger Quatre hanging on his leg and smiling. Quatre closed the wallet and carefully stowed it in his coat. Now that he had it back there was one small matter that needed to be attended to.

“Everything’s there so I’m going to be nice and leave you for the authorities instead of taking the pound of flesh I’m due.” He patted the snarling thief on the cheek before slipping the stack of stolen credit cards in the man’s pocket.

“You asshole.” The other man screamed “you can’t leave me here like this!”

“Oh but I can.” Quatre countered with a slow smile. “Who knows, you might even get lucky and the garbage men may show up before the police.”

Without a backward glance he walked off down the street. Too bad there was no cell phone reception here. That meant it would be a good hour before he got back to the hotel to call Heero and have him tip the police. Looking up he studied the artificial sky with a smirk. It would be a damn shame if the rain were to start again before he got a chance to make his call. 


End file.
